


It's For a Good Cause

by pieckaboo



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Minor Annie Leonhart/Eren Yeager, Minor Reiner Braun/Bertolt Hoover, Snippets, Stupidity, The Author Regrets Nothing, charity calendars, puppies and kittens!!!, shirtless guys struttin their stuff for a good cause yo, there's a lot of thirsting, what even
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 21:57:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20235028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pieckaboo/pseuds/pieckaboo
Summary: When Pieck saunters into the coffee shop that morning, it’s not for her usual sixteen-ounce hazelnut mocha and cranberry orange muffin.It’s because the barista is hot as fuck and she needs his help.“Hey Porco, I have a favor to ask.”





	It's For a Good Cause

**Author's Note:**

> uhhhh this has been sitting in my drafts for months and with all the crazy stuff that's happened in the manga, i was encouraged to blow the dust off this one and clean it up. soooo here ya goooooo :D Here's my attempt to beef up the pieck/porco tag !
> 
> Also, the Marley guys are some damn fine specimens and deserve to be recognized as such. (Eren kinda snuck his way in here. Also, this fic reminded me that i havent written ereannie in forever and that is tragic... god, i miss 'em)
> 
> Read, thirst, and enjoy!

When Pieck saunters into the coffee shop that morning, it’s not for her usual sixteen-ounce hazelnut mocha and cranberry orange muffin.

It’s because the barista is hot as fuck and she needs his help.

“Hey Porco, I have a favor to ask,” she says, leaning against the counter with a smile.

The coffee machine sputters to life, and Porco momentarily steps away as the ancient contraption takes its sweet time brewing the previous customer’s espresso.

He quirks a brow when he meets her at the counter. “What? You want the special of the day?” he quips, gesturing to the chalkboard menu above with the words ‘_Buy two drinks, pay for both of ‘em’_ scrawled in his chicken-scratch handwriting.

Pieck shakes her head, looking like she’s about to explode into a massive jumble of funfetti.

“I was hoping you’d do me a solid and put that pretty face of yours to good use.”

Porco initially mistakes her proposition for something… completely different. “So we’re exchanging coffee for sex now?” he asks. “I’m broke, Pieck. I need money.”

“Wow,” Pieck scoffs, eyes bulging out of her skull. “That’s _not_ where I was going with that, but anyway, we were brainstorming fundraiser ideas for the shelter and I thought about doing one of those cliché ‘half-naked hot guys with puppies and kittens’ charity calendars. Everyone loves that. Might be good publicity for the shelter, too.”

“So, naturally, I was the first ‘hot guy’ that came to mind?” Porco can’t lie to himself. He’s flattered.

“I was planning on asking Reiner and Bertolt, too. Your brother’s quite the looker as well.”

Porco drops the overconfident smirk blooming on his face, his features replaced by a scowl. Whatever. She came to him first. He’s still number one.

“I’ll think about it,” Porco tells her, but he’s already made his decision. He’d never turn down the opportunity to pimp himself out for shelter puppies and kittens.

“Thanks, Pock,” Pieck says endearingly, blowing him a kiss as she strolls out the shop.

* * *

Porco has made some questionable choices in his life, namely in his group of friends, but for what it’s worth, they really are a good-looking bunch.

Pieck had somehow managed to wrangle the reserved Bertolt Hoover into this gig, and Porco doubts Reiner Braun needed much convincing to flaunt what he’s got. Colt agreed after mulling it over for a few days, figuring the cause is just and hey he’s handsome enough. So why not?

Marcel finds justification (and satisfaction) in drowning himself in the warm, furry haven of puppy breath and kitten cuddles. It’s one of the very few things, he argues, poised like the saint he is, that gives life meaning.

“Pieck said there’d be six of us,” Reiner comments after a headcount only reveals five shirtless idiots waiting in the studio. Pieck has yet to arrive, leaving the group in an awkward muddle of confusion.

Porco avoids making eye contact with anyone in his half-dressed state, his inner prude yearning for a robe or something to cover up.

The photographer bursts into the studio ten minutes late, followed by a swarm of hyperactive pups and bouncy kittens who have never known more than the silver wires of their cages and the same old bland grass of the shelter’s rec field.

“Sorry for the delay,” the photographer says in a way that suggests otherwise. “Pants have to come off, too, by the way.” She snaps her fingers. “Chop, chop.”

“Jeez, Annie, at least buy a guy dinner first before getting him out of his pants,” Reiner grunts, slipping his trousers off. “You’re lucky I don’t mind showing off this perfect ass.” He gives his audience a generous three-sixty view of his sculpted physique, flexing at each angle.

“Save that for when we start shooting,” Annie advises, setting up her camera equipment. “In the meantime, fix your hair and play with the little ones.”

“Where’s Pieck?” Porco asks, refusing to take his pants off until it’s go time.

Annie lifts the camera to eye level and takes an experimental close-up shot of his face, the flash blinding him. “Overexposed,” she mutters to herself, adjusting the settings. “Like I thought. Anyway, Pieck was right behind me. Should be here any second.”

When Porco recovers from the assault on his retinas, he watches as Pieck ambles inside the studio in typical carefree fashion and some guy in a man-bun trailing behind her. He must be the elusive number six, Porco deduces.

The sixth volunteer immediately begins stripping, handing his clothes over to Pieck as everyone in the studio not-so-subtly ogles his lean figure. 

“How the hell did you get Eren to agree to this?” Reiner blurts incredulously.

“I held a gun to his head,” Pieck quips, winking. Reiner shivers.

Eren welcomes an onslaught of kittens aboard his battleship of a bod, their purrs reverberating into his skin. “I happen to have a thing for the cute photographer, actually,” he says, loud enough for Annie to hear. “She agreed to join me for lunch if I volunteered for this project. Although, seriously Annie, if you really wanted me to strip for you, all you had to do was ask.”

Annie rolls her eyes, determined to distance her gaze from his rippling abs because she’s a professional and she refuses to give him so much as a sliver of satisfaction. When she’s done setting up the camera and lighting equipment, she rallies the group together for a brief rundown of what to expect.

“Pieck and I have divided you all into two months each.” Annie offers the math when the shirtless fools blink emptily in response. “Six guys. Twelve months. Two months each. Make sense?”

The puppy in Marcel’s arms barks. Good enough cue to continue.

“Bertolt, you’re January and August. Marcel, you’re April and September. Reiner, you’re March and November. Porco, you’re July and December. Colt, you’re May and October. Eren, you’re February and June.”

Bertolt groans, and tugs at the non-existent collar of his non-existent shirt, his hands trembling at the absence of fabric covering his chest. “Why am I up first?”

“Because your gorgeous face deserves to be the first thing people see when they pin up these calendars,” Reiner assures. “Start the new year off right.”

“Is there a theme you want us to stick to?” Colt asks, tilting his head down a bit as Pieck powders the contours of his face with a subtle layer of bronzer. Gotta accentuate those spectacular cheekbones. “If I’m October, should I pose with a jack-o-lantern or something for Halloween?”

Annie nods and turns to Pieck, who’s casually moved on to Marcel’s touch-up. “Pieck, wheel out the props.”

Pieck complies and runs behind the curtain to the storage room. She returns with a cart full of cheesy trinkets and festive garb. “Have at it, boys. There’s something for almost every holiday in here.”

After rummaging through its contents, Porco opts for patriotic gear (Fourth of July) and matching Santa hats (Christmas) for him and his furry companion.

As he waits for his turn, Pieck swings by, armed with a powder brush and light shade of foundation.

“Time for your touch-up,” she insists. “Let’s add a little glow, shall we?”

Porco closes his eyes and relents. “You’re having too much fun with this,” he says, the thick hairs of the brush tickling his nose. “Okayyyy, I think I’m good.”

“You,” Pieck begins, channeling her best British accent, “have marvelous bone structure, darling. And your nose is _the_ gold standard of all noses.”

“I thought you asked me to do this for my body.” Porco snorts. “Does my face really matter?”

“You’re the best of both worlds,” Pieck replies with a noncommittal hum. “So when this little modeling stint is over, wanna go for pizza? My treat.”

Porco remembers he’s having this conversation half-naked, a puppy nestled in each arm, and his crush fluttering her lashes at him the same way she does every morning at the coffee shop.

Fuck. That’s what suckered him into this mess in the first place.

“Uh, sure.”

He’s _absolutely_ going to need pizza and hordes of other comfort food after this.

* * *

When Porco’s up to strut his stuff, he’s welcomed with the encouraging cheers and whistles from his idiot friends. He’s never been camera-shy, but he’s also never been photographed with his titties out for some serialized publication. 

He experiments with a few different poses, as per Annie’s request, his pup partner looking equally dashing in patriotic getup.

“Wooo! Work it, Porco!” Pieck shimmies imaginary pom-poms in support, her ridiculous catcalls earning a half-smile from him in spite of his efforts to remain completely stone-faced throughout the ordeal. 

With Pieck, Colt, Marcel, and Bertolt on the sidelines for moral support, Reiner and Eren hover behind Annie and indulge in sneak-peeks of the shots taken thus far through the display screen.

“You’re a natural, Porco,” Reiner remarks, his eyes procuring a thorough assessment. “The shadows and the lighting play up the musculature perfectly!”

Annie shoos them away, and instructs Porco to offer a teasing view of his v-cut, nestled sensually near his hip flexors. “Pull the hem of your boxers down just a tad.”

“So bossy,” Porco mutters, but he does as he’s told.

* * *

The pizza makes up for his slutty escapades.

Well, the pizza _and_ the fluffing of his ego. Pieck showers him with an abundance of flattery, and he appreciates how the admiration she’s expressing is genuine – as opposed to contrived flirting or cheap praises strung together to make him feel like his efforts counted for something.

“I knew you were the right guy for the job,” she says, taking a bite out of her crust. “The calendar’s gonna be a hit.”

“If I had said no, you woulda found some other guy to replace me,” Porco says as a tricky means of phishing for more compliments.

Pieck doesn’t quite take the bait. “You’d never say no to me,” she challenges.

It’s a fact.

Porco finds her condescending tone obnoxious but stupidly arousing.

He really just wants her to bed him already.

* * *

The calendar’s success is off the charts.

Pieck and Annie start out small; the humble beginnings of a single booth at a local street fair and the link of the shelter’s website. The sales reach astronomical numbers, soaring far beyond initial projection, the revenue dipping into thousands and _thousands_… and that’s excluding the rise in donations from thirsty third-parties.

The shelter receives a call from a publishing company about going national for the next year, on the condition that Reiner Braun wears a speedo to better complement his assets. (“It’ll be tasteful,” they said. “Hell, put ‘em all in something a little _cheekier_…”)

“So with all the money we made, do the pups and kittens have their own personal butler and masseuse now?” Porco asks as his favorite customer walks up to the counter at the coffee shop.

“Better,” Pieck replies. “They’ve all been adopted. Every single one.”

Porco smirks.

* * *

By the time February rolls around (Eren’s Valentine debut is an instant hit with the little old ladies at the local knitting club), Porco finally decides he’s done tiptoeing around the romantic undertones of his friendship with Pieck.

He bribes her with chocolate truffles. “Go out with me.”

Pieck gives them a taste test before committing to a single date.

She orgasms after the first bite.

“Okay,” she agrees.

* * *

When April swings by (Marcel and an exceptionally photogenic husky pup wish you a very Happy Easter!), Porco has to put up with random customers coming into the shop asking if his brother’s single.

“No,” Porco replies robotically every time. “He’s seeing someone. Can I take your order or-?”

Marcel’s girlfriend comes in one day, pissed, but when is she not?

“I told him not to do the calendar thing,” she grumbles. “He never listens to me.”

Porco turns his back and rolls his eyes. He’s never liked this one. Marcel can do better. “Thank god for that,” he mumbles to himself.

“What’d you say?” she asks, arms folded across her chest.

“Hmm? Nothing.”

Marcel breaks up with her the next week.

The only downside to that, unfortunately, is that Porco has to put up with even more lustful customers thirsting over his brother.

* * *

July is a scorcher (and not just because Porco looks fantastic being all patriotic and shit with his stud-muffin pup), the temperatures soaring into the mid-nineties.

Pieck wants to cool off at the beach.

“We can get ice cream, too,” she suggests to sweeten the deal. “Eren and Annie want to meet up for volleyball later.”

Porco rubs his chin, considering. A volleyball match oughtta provide the perfect opportunity to exact his revenge on Eren for suggesting he pose as a nutcracker for his December shoot.

Bastard.

“I’m down,” Porco accepts.

He spikes the ball on Eren so hard, it gives him whiplash.

* * *

Come October (Colt tries to hide the calendar from Falco, but is unsuccessful, and in true spirit of the holiday, his younger brother is forever spooked by visions of him half naked, straddling a jack-o-lantern as kittens crawl up his shoulders), the ground is laden with fallen leaves and there’s pumpkins, pumpkins everywhere.

Pieck bakes an assortment of sticky, cinnamon infused confectionaries and invites Porco over for causal movie night with friends.

She’s a little buzzed off hard cider when she makes a confession.

“I’ve had the fattest crush on you for so long,” she says in between a slew of hiccups.

Porco exhales loud and deep. “Well,” he drawls, “we _are_ dating. So… congrats. You won the ultimate prize.”

“Lucky meeee.”

“Lucky you.”

Pieck shuffles toward his lap on the cramped couch in the living room, mindful of Reiner and Bertolt’s passionate makeout session one cushion over. “I don’t think anyone’s really watching the movie,” she whispers, amused. She drags her finger up and down his arm, and presses small kisses to his cheek, his jaw, the pulse point on his neck…

Porco gets the hint. “They probably wouldn’t notice if we tiptoed outta here.”

“Mmmm… my room?”

“_Fuck_ yes.”

* * *

As the year comes to an end (Porco’s glad he got December. His ass looks great, his pup rocks the Santa hat, and um, _Christmas_), the animal shelter throws the boys a party to celebrate the success of the calendar and the upcoming release of their sophomore debut.

“Here’s to going national,” Annie announces, raising her umpteenth glass of champagne. “Cheers!”

“Cheers!”

“I still can’t believe my face – _this face_ – will be hitting the shelves in retail stores everywhere,” Marcel sings, like a lovesick hound baying at the moon.

“Yeah and we’re actually getting _paid_ this time,” Bertolt huffs, relieved. “I mean if we’re going to be objectified, might as well profit off of it.”

“Sure but it’s kinda nice to feel desirable,” Reiner says, more so as a joke to rile up his sheepish boyfriend. “I get a little hot and bothered thinking about complete strangers fantasizing about me.” Okay, that part’s not _completely_ false.

“What about complete strangers fantasizing about Bertolt?” Annie asks, adding more fuel to the fire.

Reiner laughs. He always gets the last laugh. “They can daydream all they want,” he says. “But _I’m_ the one he comes home to.”

“Heartwarming,” Eren mumbles, taking Annie by the hand. “I want to show you something,” he tells her, leading her away from the group.

They’re kissing under the mistletoe ten seconds later.

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do if Falco sees this one,” Colt broods like a worried mother, fraught with guilt. “This edition was a little more risqué than the first one.”

“Odds are he probably will,” Marcel says, patting him on the back out of sympathy. “But you’re July and December this time, so he won’t see your photos for at least seven months.”

Colt has a blond moment, until his last two brain cells recognize the fallacy in Marcel’s words. “What’s to stop him from skimming through the calendar in one go?”

Marcel mentally backtracks. “Oh, well, nothing _technically_. But he’s always been a stickler for rules, so…”

Colt gets unapologetically plastered that night.

“May I interest you in a Christmas kiss?” Pieck loops her arms around Porco, clingy but irresistible all the same.

“Eren and Annie are still hogging the mistletoe,” Porco quips, gesturing toward the lovelorn pair across the room still making out like teenagers. What the hell.

“You don’t need mistletoe to kiss me,” Pieck yawns. “Just like I don’t need you to pose for a charity calendar to see you strip.”

“It sets a precedent,” Porco explains. “A precursor. A standard.”

She might be right.

But to prove his point, he takes her outside to see the first snowfall, and waits until the tiny crystallized flakes twinkle in her eyes like stars before he finally leans in and kisses her.

* * *

The next calendar is a huge commercial hit.

But…

“I’m done,” Porco decides when propositioned for a third round. “I’m not doing any more calendars.”

Bertolt hangs his hat on his short-lived modeling career as well. (At least that's what he puts on his résumé. It’s not a lie if it’s vague.)

Colt throws in the towel after Falco begs him to stop, and spare the Grice family any more embarrassment. (“At least my college tuition is paid for!”)

Eren had only been involved for the sake of wooing Annie, and judging by the huge rock on her ring finger, he’d say he managed well enough. So he, too, will no longer partake in the world of scandalous calendars.

It’s no surprise when Reiner and Marcel announce they’re retiring as well. Reiner wants to settle down into something more serious career-wise (and settle down into something more serious with Bertolt), while Marcel aims to focus on finding real love, like the true hopeless romantic he is. (“It’s hard to date when all people want from you is your body! Beautiful people can’t trust _anyone_!”)

Pieck is supportive either way.

“Your fans might be disappointed,” she teases over breakfast one morning.

“They can kiss my ass,” Porco says, only because he’s grumpy and hasn’t had coffee yet.

“Oh, I’m sure they’d love to.”

It takes Porco a whole year to notice she’s kept their first calendar hung up on the wall in her room, pinned on December, as though frozen in time.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading this disaster :')


End file.
